Poetry is so jokes

In English, we wrote poems today. They were written looking at different paintings. Here are the poems (yes, multiple poems) I wrote, along with the paintings they were based on. (ARGH! I'm having so many formatting issues with this post!)

3 Worlds - M.C. Escher





The branches of the trees only tickle the fish
But the leaves trap it in water
Imprisoning the creature in a world
That is only one of three

Nighthawks - Hooper

Sitting at the bar, each has their own story
The woman with a dress as red as her eyes
Recounts over a drink the story of her divorce
While the handsome man beside her moves closer
As if to comfort her, but only succeeding in comforting
Himself

And the mysterious persona sitting alone
Hears the tragedies of the others
Only to add his own, about the theft
Of his identity, along with his collection
Of solid gold Buddhas

The bartender only dreams of the day
When he is not required to provide comfort
For those who don’t know how to take care
Of themselves, but he remains quiet
And in his mind knows that he, also, would be
As they are now

Friedrich Rugen (I'm not sure what the name of this painting is)

She glances down the depths of the cliff
Wondering whether she should or should not
Take the leap of faith, faith that she will die
While he watches her with the eyes of a murderer

He is not a murderer, and she is only killing
Herself, but he does not take a step in her direction
Not to save her, and not to push her
Because he is only an observer, there to report
The scenes of tragedy that merely exist and are unimportant

Hotel - Hopper

She holds the directory loosely in her hands
Forgetting which page his number is on
She almost wants to call him and scream
Into the receiver because he did this

But it is all too familiar and she cannot bring
Herself to blame him too much for it is not him
That is sitting in a hotel room with nowhere
To go, and wondering where his lover went

He knows exactly where he is, and knows exactly
Who he is, because he only has to be the man
That left her in an unfamiliar hotel room

The People are Rotting, Not the Fruit

Once again, I am drawing inspiration from other people rather than trudge down to the depths of my own brain, which has been denying me ideas far too often.

Upon reading "she who goes by her last name"'s article, I was inspired to write a lengthy and opinionated comment. I will post it here for the benefits of you all:

I don't agree with the fact that boys do worse or better at school than girls. I understand perfectly physical limitations of gender, but I think that stays limited to athletics. My honest belief is that people need to stop finding reasons for these problems, and fix them instead.

Example: stop wondering what is wrong with our education and why China and India are pwning right now, and just fix the stupid education system. Example: stop complaining about outsourcing to other countries and get off your lazy arse and do the work yourself.

My dad told me about a New York Times edition in which the front page featured two articles. The first was about how in a few years the fruit is going to start rotting on the trees because illegal immigrants won't be allowed to be hired to pick the fruit. The second article was about a plea for funding because teenagers didn't have enough jobs open to them.

My point has been proved.

(end comment)

I also recently saw, at Folklife, a man playing the saxophone with a sign that said "Homeless, but not sitting on my arse shaking a cup." Although I appreciate that this man was doing something about his situation, the honest question comes to mind whether there are really not enough jobs to cover people like this.

I can't really believe that there are so many illegal immigrants working in America right now, and we still have a homeless person around every street corner with a sign. I guess I can understand disabled people, because their physical limitations don't allow them to get a job. However, there are a lot of people I see that would have no issues getting a job as a busboy, or a housecleaner, or something of the sort. There exists physical labor that you will get paid for, but people are so lazy nowadays that they are refusing to do it.

I suppose part of me is scared that there actually aren't enough jobs in America and I'm completely wrong. Another part of me feels extremely hypocritical, because regardless of where I end up going to college, and what I end up doing, I would still be reluctant to get a job as a busboy (girl). But that's not to say that I would sit on a street corner holding out my hat, waiting for people to take pity on me and feed me out of their own wallets. When it came down to it, I would take the job, however hard I would have to work.

The honesty of the situation is that there are jobs in America, but not a lot that people want to take. And a lot of jobs have been outsourced, to countries in which they are taught that they don't have a choice but to take what they can get, and that nothing is beneath them. We have a lot of underlying opinions about things in America, making us amazingly arrogant, but I suppose we all already knew that.

DeviantART

I got a DeviantART account, so here's the link. All the stuff on it so far I think I've already posted here, but who knows, maybe someday you'll see some art on there that most certainly will not be posted here.

http://follow-the-rainbow.deviantart.com/

YourLipsMyHips

Sorry about the failure to post, but here's a poem!

YourLipsMyHips

I lick my lips they’re your lips
I kiss your lips they are candy dancing in my mouth
I hug your hips they’re my hips
Connected why are we connected
I look into your eyes they’re my eyes
Music is in my ear but it’s your voice my voice
My fingers raise goosebumps on your stomach
It’s my stomach
I look up and stare at you but I’m staring at me
I’m looking at myself and wishing I had someone
To look into my eyes and I look into theirs
Not just the shallow glass that shows me a reflection
Of myself and what could be

Also, a really awesome picture I found that I thought goes with this well...it's the x-ray of a kiss, in case you can't tell.

An Explanology

This is a mix between and explanation and an apology, in case the title didn't make sense to you. It has become clearer than ever that we need to be safer...so here is my addition to the ring of safety to rule them all.

Obviously, only a select few of you can read this blog now...apologies for the somewhat intense process...

I have also gone through all my older posts and eliminated any names that were mentioned. Hopefully you will all understand the vague references to your names that are made (see the appreciation post for evidence).

I'd also like to make a plea to all of you to please try and keep the existence of this blog amongst yourselves, I'd really appreciate that.

rapunzel.in.black

Two Angry Women

I had a debate with my mother last night. For those of you who know my mother, she is a very sweet individual, and easily appreciates everything she sees, even if upon seeing it I cringe in ways I have not done since the song "It's Hard Out There for a Pimp" won an Academy Award. My mother especially likes to appreciate things that are amazingly cliche. This is what last night's debate falls under the category of. Not the debate itself, but the subject matter.

It started when my mom was showing me and my dad a slideshow of profound quotes. About 8 quotes into the slideshow, I made a comment, quite casually, about how the quotes would never have been remembered if the people who said them had not already been famous.

She immediately launched into a tirade about how the people who said these quotes had more experience and had acheived more than the rest of us, therefore they could think up of these profound quotes. I obviously begged to differ, as it was my opinion that many of these quotes were not profound at all, and I or she, or anyone for that matter, could come up with such things, but nobody would remember them since we are not famous.

Now, here is the best part. My mom spent the rest of the night arguing with me. This is okay. What is not okay is that she spent the whole night arguing my point. She debated with me to prove my own opinion. I don't know if this has ever happened to any of you, but it is extremely hard to argue with somebody who keeps defending your statements, because you end up having nothing to say.

She then ended the debate saying that I have become far too cynical, and I should stop hanging around Jake so much. She was also under the impression that I was very angry, perhaps because I was arguing back rather than sit there and nod at everything she said. Usually, I am too tired or busy to argue back with my parents, so I just take everything they give me, because usually they shut up faster that way.

It was most certainly an enlightening debate, not on why the quotes were profound, but rather why I should continue to avoid arguing with my parents. I think I will continue to keep up the facade of a personality that they think I have.

Also, a note about the previous post: I know I said I was going to post the final draft of the poem next, but upon editing it, I didn't change anything major, so I decided to write this lovely pointlessness for you instead.

The Twelve Days of Romance

The effects of my attempts to fulfill my homework for English, which consisted of: write a rough draft for a love poem that tells a story, and never mentions outright the concept of love itself. A little bit of a longer poem, compared to what I usually write. After we do peer editing, I'll give you a final version of it:

The Twelve Days of Romance

The first day I saw you it was unexpectedly dark
So maybe I didn’t really see you at all
It was raining down pollution and the raindrops
Didn’t only taste bitter, they were my bitterness

The second day I saw you it was far too early
And my eyes had not adjusted to the light
The sun was blinding and I saw spots behind my eyes
Which were closed, so still I didn’t see you

The third day I saw you it was for the first time
My eyes were open, I could see,
And I walked right by, not sparing a glance
Because really you just blended into the crowd

The fourth day I saw you I knew I had seen you before
And maybe I had even been looking for you
We did an awkward dance around the topic of
Conversation, then we turned around and decidedly left

The fifth day I saw you I knew it was not
A coincidental meeting that we could pretend to
Avoid, so I walked up to you and I said
“Goodbye” and didn’t give you a chance to say hello

The sixth day I saw you I did a double take
I thought my message had been perfectly clear
But then you looked in the other direction
And I walked the other way

The seventh day I saw you we knew it was fate
So we talked and you got me a cup of
Lukewarm coffee and I knew that it had
Truly and really begun

The eighth day I saw you I shook my head
Despairing at the preplanned qualities of
My life that seemed to fall into place
Just as I had wanted it not to

The ninth day I saw you we went out to lunch
I had a salad, with honey but no dressing
You had a sandwich, which looked a little dry
We both had a conversation, it cost $12.40

The tenth day I saw you we got coffee again
This time it was quite warm, and my insides
Were feeling a little jumpy that day
But ignoring them I continued on my way

The eleventh day I saw you, I began to wonder
Why neither of us had yet made a move
We amiably chatted about the effects of
A mother’s diet on the sex of a newborn baby

The twelfth day I saw you we shook hands
And I detected the glint of something on
The fourth finger of your left hand
I don’t recall ever seeing you again